


Intimations

by roxaneros



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Comedy, F/M, Faerghus' Sexual Repression, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxaneros/pseuds/roxaneros
Summary: Sylvain has a reputation for knowing about intimate matters. That puts him in the embarrassing position of needing to explain certain delicate things to his more inexperienced friends.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 29
Kudos: 165





	Intimations

The trouble with getting a reputation as a philanderer, Sylvain thought, was that it lent him an air of expertise on certain topics. 

And in a sense, he certainly was more knowledgeable than most of the repressed bastards in Faerghus (although he’d been no better than a fumbling teenager when it came to Dorothea or, goddess forbid he remember, Yuri). 

Sylvain certainly knew more about relationships, primarily beginning and ending them. Sylvain  _ definitely _ knew more about human anatomy considering the fact that even in the middle of a war he’d watched his fellow Blue Lions scurrying into the bathhouses in robes and towels, ducking behind curtains if they heard his footsteps. Even Dimitri. And he’d been legitimately insane for five years. 

The real problem was that his former classmates had a habit of coming to him for advice, and while at first that had been hilarious, it was starting to become somewhat unbearable. 

It had begun right after the war with Dedue of all people. He’d approached Sylvain under the guise of researching courtship customs from across Fódlan, but eventually, and agonizingly, Sylvain had wrung out that Dedue was attempting to woo Mercedes and, in his solid, quiet way, was terrified of messing it up. That had been sweet. 

Sylvain had helped Dedue compose a letter, after he had rejected the idea of a poem, and Dedue had gone off and gotten himself happily engaged. A resounding success. 

Things had gotten strange when Annette had asked him completely out of the blue one day if male testicles were particularly sensitive. 

He’d actually choked at that. She’d given him a stern look, slightly belied by a blush on her cheeks, and informed him that it was an academic question related to her work at the School of Sorcery. And Sylvain was, in her words, the “only male friend who wouldn’t die of embarrassment” at being asked such a question. 

Well, Sylvain had given her an answer and she had marched off with a look of determination that Sylvain feared had nothing to do with whatever balls-related magic she was supposedly researching. 

Then, of course, Ashe had come hurrying into his quarters one evening before a state dinner, pale and hunched, begging Sylvain to help him hide what were absolutely love bites all down his neck. And Sylvain was happy to help, of course, but Ashe hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for weeks afterwards and Sylvain was beginning to worry that it might harm their friendship. 

Flayn had actually attempted to subtly ask him at a party whether it was possible, as she had put it, “for a woman to sit astride a man,” but Sylvain valued his life and Seteth had been disconcertingly nearby so he’d managed to escape that one with nothing but a hasty nod. 

At least Ingrid hadn’t come to him for advice yet. His stomach churned unpleasantly even imagining her slipping into his office, hemming and hawing and asking how to stick her tongue properly down some man’s throat. Or maybe she didn’t need his help. Ingrid was always competent. She was the one who got him out of trouble, not the other way around. 

As for his other childhood friends, Dimitri would come to him for help when Ailell froze over, and even then it would be unbearable. Sylvain had tried his best when they were both at the academy, and if Dimitri then had been awkward about romance, Sylvain shuddered to imagine how bad it would be now (“I know I am unworthy and that I still have much to atone for, but I beg you, how can I keep this monstrous dong of mine from harming those I have sworn to protect…?”) 

Which was why, in the end, it was Felix. It was Felix and, as a result, it would go down in history as one of the most painful and embarrassing conversations in Sylvain’s life, surpassing multiple breakups and the time that he’d had to explain a certain armor chafing situation to Professor Manuela. 

The first time occurred the night after the Garreg Mach Establishment Day ball both of them had been invited to. All of the former Blue Lions had come, alongside most of Dimitri’s royal retinue, but it felt odd to take lodgings in town rather than to wander back to dormitory rooms when the party was over. 

Felix had been in a strange mood all night. Normally it was always Felix and Dimitri, right hand and king, shield and lance, side by side. But at some point during the ball, Felix had vanished and Dimitri had stood around looking pale and confused for a while as the archbishop attempted to engage him in conversation. 

And when the night came to an end, Felix had turned up looking like he had just swallowed a lemon covered in spikes, and so Sylvain had done the friendly thing and invited him for a nightcap before bed. 

In their long acquaintance, Sylvain had never known Felix to be much for drink, but that evening when Sylvain poured him a nip of Gautier whiskey from the bottle, Felix had swallowed it down in one enormous mouthful. His eyes, usually narrow and scowling, were as wide and haunted as Alois Rangeld staring down one of those famous monastery ghosts. 

“So,” Sylvain had begun once he’d refilled Felix’s glass cautiously, “how was your night?”

Felix made a strange sound in his throat and said nothing. 

“Alright Felix, I don’t want to claim that it’s because I’m your best friend in the entire world, but I’m sensing that something is wrong,” Sylvain continued. “Call it my keen intuition. Did something happen?”

“I did something,” Felix finally admitted, biting off the ends of his words like he wanted to stop his mouth from saying them. “Something terrible.” 

“Okay,” Sylvain said cautiously. “What kind of terrible?” 

“Terrible,” Felix said through gritted teeth. “Stupid. I-” 

He broke off again. Sylvan took the opportunity to sip his own whiskey, savoring the rich smoky taste on his tongue. 

“I kissed Dimitri!” 

Fine quality whiskey sprayed out onto Sylvain lap. He hacked and coughed for nearly a full minute until he could clear the burning from his nose where much of the liquor had jettisoned. Felix groaned and put his head into his hands. 

“Felix that’s-” Sylvain finally managed to say, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat a few times. “That’s not terrible. I mean, not inherently.” 

“It is,” Felix insisted. “It is. Because I… I would do it again. If I could.” 

“And did it seem like… did it seem like Dimitri would want to do it again?” Sylvain asked, trying to comprehend what the problem actually was here.

“I don’t know,” Felix said in a smaller voice. “He... He did lift me off of the ground. Against the wall.” 

“I’m going to go with that’s a pretty sure sign that he might like to kiss you again,” Sylvain deadpanned. Unbelievable. How was _he_ the person who had to make this finally happen? 

“How do I stop it, then?” Felix asked urgently, “how do I stop it without... you know. You know how he gets if he thinks he did something wrong.” 

“Felix, buddy, you’re going to have to catch me up on why you want to break this off with Dimitri, given that you both seem to have really wanted to kiss each other,” Sylvain said carefully. 

Felix’s face had turned red up to the tips of his ears. He finished another glass of the whiskey. Then he opened and closed his mouth a few times. Extracting teeth had nothing on Felix attempting to express an emotion. 

“I don’t know how,” Felix finally said. 

“How?” Sylvain asked. 

“How.” Felix confirmed. 

“How to what?” Sylvain said. “Tell him how you feel?” 

Felix rolled his eyes at that. 

“No, of course I know how to do that, I’ll just say it directly,” Felix said scornfully. Sylvain nodded. That was fair. Felix might not care for vulnerability, but he didn’t exactly bandy words when it came to getting what he wanted. 

“So then what do you not know how to do?” Sylvain asked. Felix ran his hands down his face, covering his eyes when he next spoke. 

“I don’t know how to be… how to be his…” Felix’s lip curled. “Lover.” 

Sylvain sensed that if he laughed now, Felix would probably never speak to him again. They’d sworn an oath to die together as children. Felix might just fulfill it by killing them both himself.

“Well, you can kiss him again,” Sylvain suggested, keeping his voice very even. Felix kept his hands over his eyes, but said nothing. “And you can embrace. And if you both want more than that… well, you can start with things that you enjoy doing to yourself.” 

Felix remained silent. 

“I’m saying when you pleasure yourself,” Sylvain clarified. Why was he suddenly nervous? Felix ought to be the one enduring this discomfort, not him. “Whatever makes your body feel good might be the same for Dimitri.” 

“I’m-” Felix began, nearly interrupting Sylvain and then pausing again. “I’m not good at that.” 

“You’re not good,” Sylvain began, “at pleasuring yourself?” 

Felix silently shook his head.

Sylvain sat feeling thunderstruck. Perhaps Felix had actually struck him with a bolt of thunder magic when he wasn’t paying attention, who knew?

He was actually about to have this conversation with  _ Felix _ of all people. With a slightly drunk Felix, certainly. Sober Felix might have better dexterity with a blade and Sylvain absolutely would not be finding out how that would go for him. 

“Right, so, I have some book you could borrow,” Sylvain finally said. “You’re going to want to start slowly. It’s not a race. It’s not a competition. And I’m going to give you some oil which is going to make stuff a lot more comfortable.” 

Felix hissed through his teeth and then nodded. 

“And, um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m assuming you might need to be a little more gentle?” Sylvain said, wishing he was not at that very moment entertaining the image of Felix angrily attempting to pleasure himself with the same fierce tenacity of a sword fight at the training grounds. 

“I should just call it off, tell him it was a mistake,” Felix immediately muttered. “I’m not… I’m a  _ soldier _ . This is not my area.” 

“Come on, Felix,” Sylvain groaned. “You’re just going to give up? You won’t even put the work in and practice?”

Felix’s head shot up at that and he glared at Sylvain. Naturally, that tactic had worked. Naturally. 

“Give me the damn book,” Felix snarled. 

Sylvain had assumed that would be the last he would ever hear of it. He assumed that Felix would go a few rounds with a lewd book of prints and a slightly lubricated palm and then figure the rest out on his own. It was with Dimitri after all. If anyone was going to fumble through Felix’s inexperience with equal parts terror and tenderness, it would be Dimitri. 

***

A few months later, Sylvain was out riding with Ingrid. She still wore her knightly tunic even when she was off-duty. Maybe in the evenings, she let Annette dress her in a gown and went out to meet young suitors in Fhirdiad, but Sylvain was glad he got to see her with grass stains on the seat of her trousers and straw in her pale gold hair. 

“I’m worried about Dimitri,” Ingrid said as they paused their horses at the branch of a trail. “I think he’s getting sad again. Not like he was, but… sad.” 

“Could be the trouble with Hrym again,” Sylvain shrugged. “He’s worked himself to exhaustion over that land redistribution.” 

“I don’t think it’s Hrym,” Ingrid shook her head. “I think he’s fighting with Felix again. Maybe you could talk to Felix about it? He might not even realize he’s done something to hurt Dimitri’s feelings.” 

Oh, he knows what he’s done, Sylvain thought grimly. He knows. 

“Please, Sylvain?” Ingrid asked. Her voice sounded so earnest.

“Alright,” Sylvain agreed at once.

Which was how he somehow ended up once again inviting Felix to join him for a drink after a long dull summit on domestic tariffs was wrapping up.

The fact that Felix accepted spoke volumes. 

After a few rounds at some Fhirdiad taverns, Sylvain managed to get the thoroughly sloshed Felix back to his lodgings and seated in an armchair in front of the fire. Sylvain pressed another minuscule pour of whiskey into Felix’s hand, more so that he’d have something to hold and distract himself with. Sylvain poured himself a far stiffer drink. He expected that he was going to need it. 

“So,” Sylvain said after a long moment. “You ever kiss Dimitri again?” 

Felix glared at him and then looked despondently down into his glass. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied. 

“And?” Sylvain asked. 

“And it didn’t go well,” Felix growled. “I mean, the kiss was fine. But after a few hours, it started to get…difficult to just do that.” 

A few hours, Sylvain thought with horror. A few _hours_? How long had Felix kept Dimitri lip locked? It was a miracle the man could still speak. 

“So what happened?” Sylvain asked, trying to keep his tone as sensible and practical as Felix would when describing a new weapon or a magical glyph. 

“I tried to take his clothes off,” Felix said, trying to sip his drink and letting a bit of whiskey spill down his chin. “I think I bit him too hard. He had a bruise. And then he nearly suffocated me under his body and he went all weird and guilty.” 

“Alright, so it wasn’t perfect the first time,” Sylvain shrugged. “That’s why you do training, right?” 

“Sylvain, I tried to put my mouth on…” Felix sighed heavily. “But my teeth kept…” 

“Oh,” Sylvain nodded. 

“And the stupid boar didn’t want me to take his shirt off or anything. I had to do it all with his trousers at his knees,” Felix spat out. 

“Did you take your shirt off?” Sylvain asked, wishing that he didn’t have to ask for more details that Felix clearly found mortifying to share. 

“Of course,” Felix shot back, “I took everything off, but Dimitri is an idiot and he insisted on blowing out all of the candles so I could barely see and anyways, that’s probably why the thing with the teeth even happened. I was blind.” 

“Felix,” Sylvain said slowly. “Do you think that maybe Dimitri doesn’t, um, that he doesn’t like his own body very much?” 

Felix’s head jerked up at that. He looked confusingly angry, as though Sylvain had just insulted him. 

“Why wouldn’t he like it?” Felix asked fiercely. “It’s all…” 

Felix gestured vaguely in the air for a few seconds. The flush was creeping back onto his cheeks. 

“Do you remember how back at the Officers Academy he would never take those stupid gauntlets off, even at dinner?” Sylvain reminded Felix as gently as he could. “Or during the war how he would take his baths in the middle of the night when no one else was awake?” 

Felix shrugged silently, folding his arms over his chest. 

“I think that maybe if you explained to him directly that you don’t find his body repulsive, he might feel more comfortable,” Sylvain said. Felix rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously he knows I’m attracted to him,” Felix said sharply. 

“How does he know?” 

“Because I said ‘I’m attracted to you’ and then I kissed him again,” Felix replied roughly. 

Sylvain resisted the urge to scream. 

“Okay, so a good start,” Sylvain said instead, “but perhaps express that more often. Or more romantically. Or… maybe just don’t use your words. Show him with actions that you enjoy the way that he looks.” 

“I did that,” Felix snarled. “After the thing with the teeth, I just used my hand. And it worked. And then he…” 

Felix trailed off and took a few deep breaths. Sylvain watched with horrified fascination. Would Felix actually make him ask what happened next? 

“He apologized,” Felix said through gritted teeth. “For getting my hand dirty.”

“Oh Sothis’ tits,” Sylvain said before he could stop himself. 

Felix was a piece of work, but Dimitri was clearly not helping matters. To make matters worse, were it not for the fact that Felix and Dimitri had been waiting to jump each other’s bones for nearly ten years now, Sylvain would have said that there was no one in the world worse suited to coaxing a shy Dimitri out of his shell than Felix. 

“So anyways, I think it’s over now,” Felix said. He was trying his best to look angry, but given the whiskey and the late hour, Sylvain caught a glimpse of desperate sadness in his eyes. 

“Hey, knock it off,” Sylvain commanded him. “You’ll improve eventually. Like I said before, you need to train. And, I know you’re going to hate this, but you’re going to have to talk to each other about what you like. Imagine that you were trying to go into combat with an ally, but you’d never asked him about his fighting style or his favored weapons. Disaster, right?” 

Felix nodded.

Sylvain was prepared to swear off of extended metaphors involving swords for the rest of his life. 

“So you need to talk as you’re practicing. Together. If something starts to hurt, you say it. If something is working, you say it. If you like the look of something, say it. Aloud,” Sylvain commanded. He was inadvertently slipping into the tone of voice he’d used with his battalion. 

“Fine,” Felix finally relented. “Fine.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Felix lowered his head again. Maybe he would fall asleep, Sylvain thought hopefully, and the nightmare would end. 

“But,” Felix said suddenly, his head snapping up. “It doesn’t matter. I read the book you gave me and none of it will work because we both… neither of us have a place to… men.” 

“What?” Sylvain asked, momentarily baffled. 

“We’re both men,” Felix said through clenched teeth. 

“Felix, how the hell did you spend five years in military encampments and never once notice how plenty of your men were having sex with each other?” Sylvain exploded, unable to remain calm and clinical for another second. 

“Because I’m not disgusting!” Felix shouted back. “I don’t pay attention to other people’s private matters!” 

“Well, I guess you’ll never know then,” Sylvain laughed smugly. 

Felix slammed his glass down on the side table. 

“Just tell me!” he yelled. “How does it work?”

“You put it in the hole you _do_ have back there!” Sylvain groaned with exasperation. “One of you puts a dick in the other person’s asshole and you enjoy it! Use the damn oil I gave you so that it doesn’t hurt and have a fantastic time!” 

Felix’s eyes had gone very wide. He suddenly looked more nervous than Sylvain had seen him on the evening before the siege of Enbarr. Slowly, a bit of pity crept back into Sylvain’s heart. 

This was Felix, after all. Felix who would happily take an arrow for him on the field, but couldn’t admit that the thought of other forms of penetration terrified him. 

“I’m going to give you another book,” Sylvain finally said. “And this time, you’re going to read it with Dimitri. Together.” 

Felix nodded. 

The fire was beginning to burn low. 

“Thanks,” Felix finally said before his head slumped to the side and he fell asleep. 

***

In a few more years, Sylvain thought, when he had distance from the events of the past month, he was going to make a formal proposal to the crown and the Church of Seiros that all children be given some sort of mandatory explanation into the basic parts of human anatomy. People shouldn’t have to learn these things from erotic woodblock art in their late twenties. It would be Sylvain’s own personal crusade for justice. 

But at the very least, the fruits of Sylvain’s labor seemed to be paying off. Felix was no longer skittering around the king like a cat with its tail on fire. And Dimitri had stopped staring out of windows during meetings and breaking his quills. 

In fact, Sylvain thought, they seemed almost friendly together. Sylvain even caught them talking in the palace gardens once after a privy council meeting and saw Felix awkwardly put a hand onto one of Dimitri's gloves. Well, he sort of just grabbed Dimitri’s thumb at first, but then after a few moments of adjustment, they laced their fingers together. 

“Are Felix and Dimitri, um, together?” Ingrid asked him one afternoon at the stables as they were feeding a few overly soft apples to the pegasi.

“Yep,” Sylvain said. Ingrid cast him a look of indignation. 

“Sylvain!” she snapped. “How could you not tell me? We’ve all been friends for so many years and no one thought to inform me?” 

“I think they’re going to want to keep it private for a while,” Sylvain said evasively. “While they… work some stuff out.” 

“I understand,” Ingrid said solemnly, clearly not understanding, “it must be difficult after all of the harsh words and the mess with Rodrigue.” 

“It is definitely… difficult,” Sylvain confirmed. Ingrid smiled at him and for some reason he felt a little lightheaded. 

“I’m glad you’re helping Felix,” she said. “I never thought I’d say this, but he could actually stand to learn a few things from you.” 

“Ha!” Sylvain barked a laugh before he could stop himself. 

The feeling of relief did not last long. It was midmorning on Saint Macuil day when Felix came storming into Sylvain’s bedchamber without so much as a knock and immediately he began pouring half-full glasses of whiskey for the both of them. 

“Hi Felix, uh, you realize it isn’t noon yet?” Sylvain said, looking up from a missive from Sreng he was in the middle of translating. Felix silently thrust the glass of whiskey at him. Sylvain tentatively accepted it, unsure if he was about to need it. 

“Something happened,” Felix said sharply, slurping a mouthful of whiskey, wincing, and then beginning to pace in front of Sylvain’s desk. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Sylvain said slowly. 

“No,” Felix scowled. 

“Okay,” Sylvain said, prepared to wait him out. 

“We looked at the book,” Felix said. 

“And?” 

“And I said I wanted to try it,” Felix continued. 

“And?” 

“And I had gotten everything prepared. I had practiced,” Felix gritted out. 

“But?” Sylvain tried this time. 

“But Dimitri said he wanted  _ me _ to be the one to, um,” Felix grimaced. “Go inside.” 

Sylvain blinked up at him for a moment, then relented and took a long drink. 

“So why are you telling me this?” Sylvain asked. 

“Well he’s the king, and he’s enormous, and I had thought…” Felix fumbled out. “Anyways, he seemed to like it even though he was crying. Like… really liked it. Really, really liked it.” 

“Wow,” Sylvain said, pushing his chair back from the desk as though trying to escape from Felix’s words. He absolutely did not need that image in his head. He absolutely did not need to know that the next time had to publicly swear solemn fealty before his king. 

“But we both finished pretty fast and it just seemed like, well, like there should be more, so I told him I was ready as well,” Felix continued. “And when he agreed, I got… well, even with the practice, I might have been a bit tense.” 

Given that Felix was usually wound as tightly as a coiled spring, Sylvain could only imagine what he would describe as “a bit tense.” 

“And he started to look really sad and guilty so I just took a deep breath and it all went in, and then--” Felix swallowed very hard. “Then he nearly lifted me into the air, put my legs over his shoulders because he’s stronger than a demon, and I did something terrible.” 

“Look, I know it can be a bit embarrassing, especially if you didn’t eat enough--” Sylvain began. 

“I told him I loved him,” Felix interrupted. He was still pacing in front of the desk. 

“Oh shit,” Sylvain said. 

“And then he made this sound and cracked one of the bed posts with his hand and someone called the guards to check on us,” Felix said in a rush. “And everything still hurts and am I going to be able to walk normally again soon?” 

Sylvain noticed for the first time that Felix’s frantic pacing did have a hint of a limp to it. 

“When was this?” 

“Last night,” Felix confessed. “I am a warrior, Sylvain, I need my legs!” 

“You’ll be fine,” Sylvain assured him. “See if Annette can make you a frost glyph if you’re really worried.” 

“And what about the other thing?” Felix asked harshly. 

“What other thing? The guards will probably gossip a bit, but-” 

“The words, Sylvain! The words!” Felix shouted. 

“Well,” Sylvain laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his head. “I mean, people don’t always mean the words that they said in moments of passion. I should know, right?” 

Felix grunted. 

“Did you… mean the words that you said?” Sylvain asked tentatively. 

Felix bit his lip. 

“If you did mean them, then… what exactly is the problem?” Sylvain followed up. 

Felix glared at him, set the mostly untouched glass down on his desk, and then stormed out of the room with all of the dignity a slightly limping man could muster. 

Sylvain would only find out hours later than the king’s advisor had apparently come bursting into the throne room in the middle of a petition for the relief of Alliance lands flooded during a recent storm near the Airmid river, grabbed the king by the collar, kissed him, and then hauled him away. They’d had to postpone the meeting indefinitely. The clerks were furious. 

Sylvain finished both drinks in the end. No point in wasting good whiskey. 

***

The night before the royal wedding, Sylvain heard a gentle knock on his door after the dinner was finally over. He got up with a sigh, glancing at the nearly empty bottle on the mantelpiece. 

However, when he opened the door, it wasn’t Felix. It was Dimitri, still wearing his regalia and his crown from the reception that evening. 

“Oh Goddess above,” Sylvain cursed under his breath. 

“Hello Sylvain,” Dimitri said, as somber and serious as ever. “May I come in for a moment? I have a matter to discuss with you.” 

“I have some books you can borrow,” Sylvain said hastily, stepped back to allow Dimitri in. 

“Please, Sylvain, there is no need to be crass,” Dimitri scolded him. Sylvain felt his jaw drop open in pure indignation. “I am simply here because I wanted to thank you.” 

“Thank me?” Sylvain asked skeptically. 

“I know you have helped Felix immensely,” Dimitri said softly. “And by extension, you have helped me as well. Particularly when intimate matters are concerned, I had not realized you could be so… graceful.” 

Sylvain felt his mouth twist a bit at that. He might be graceful where intimate matters were concerned, but Sylvain had been hearing the rumors for months about the king and his betrothed’s fundamental inability to keep their hands off of one another. 

At the very least, it seemed that they were both enjoying themselves. Vocally. Nightly. 

“Alright, you are very welcome, Your Majesty,” Sylvain said with a wink. Dimitri looked stern. 

“What I am trying to say, Sylvain, is that your knowledge of affairs of the heart has been more beneficial than I imagined when all those years ago at the academy I ended up trapped in your dormitory, fleeing from the attentions of a young lady,” Dimitri said. “I underestimated you. I believe now that you truly do understand the importance of genuine love and affection in a person’s life.” 

“Yep, I sure do,” Sylvain agreed with a tight smile. 

“Which is why I must ask for your assistance once more,” Dimitri sighed. 

Sylvain rammed his head down onto his desk with an audible thunk and then quickly raised it again to smile. 

“Sure,” he said through his panic. 

He had no idea what Dimitri was about to ask him, but he suspected it would mortify them both. Maybe something about using his mouth or his tongue. The man couldn’t taste, after all. Or perhaps he was going to ask him how to keep the royal erection lasting a bit longer when, according to Felix, the both of them were going several rounds a night of switching off. 

“A friend has come to me and asked for help with expressing her affections,” Dimitri said with a sigh. “But I am afraid I do not know best how to do that. Felix has taken the lead in most of our courtship.” 

“What?” Sylvain asked, baffled. 

“This friend has informed me that she is in love with someone, but cannot voice her affections without seeming to be scolding or picking a fight,” Dimitri continued. “She says that she is afraid she will look silly if she tries the usual feminine mode of dressing herself in silk and powdering her face. She says she would rather tell this man who she loves while they are out riding or in the stable, where she feels comfortably herself. But she believes she lacks a sense of romance, while he is an experienced lover.” 

“I-” Sylvain began, but Dimitri continued. 

“She has told me that she would like to tell her friend that she loves him very dearly, even though she often seems to be irritated with him,” Dimitri said. “And she hopes to say it to him tomorrow morning on a ride in the country. But if he does not feel the same way, she wishes not to bother him with such a humiliating confession.” 

Sylvain’s mouth had gone totally dry. 

Dimitri smiled, a bit of mischief shining in his eye. 

“Well, Sylvain, what do you think she should do?” he asked gently. “After all, you are the expert in these matters.” 

Sylvain stood rooted to the spot and silent for several minutes. 

“I think,” he finally managed to say, “she should meet him at the stable tomorrow, before the wedding starts.” 

Dimitri nodded and clapped Sylvain on the shoulder. 

“I thought so,” he said warmly, “these private matters must all be revealed eventually.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> wrote this for the km a while back and figured I should finally post it xx


End file.
